Sitting by a wall in the sun
by Nesta
Summary: Did Frodo and Faramir ever get round to retelling their tales? I like to think so.


**'Sitting by a wall in the sun…'**

_This is prompted by Faramir's words to Frodo at Henneth Annûn about how they might 're-tell our tales, sitting by a wall in the sun, laughing at old grief'. Faramir wanted to know how Gollum had got hold of the Ring, and how he lost it._

'…_slays king, ruins town_

_ and beats high mountain down_.

That one nearly finished him' said Frodo, looking sidelong at Faramir.

'Did it indeed?' said Faramir. 'And yet the answer is not so very far to seek. What could accomplish all that, except Time?'

'Right again,' said Frodo, slightly discomfited 'but of course you…' He broke off, afraid of being thought discourteous.

'I am not in imminent danger of being eaten,' Faramir finished for him. 'I dare say that would disturb one's thinking.'

'It certainly disturbed my cousin Bilbo's, but by pure luck he brought out the answer…'

'… and so he got home safely, not guessing what a perilous treasure he had brought back with him?' said Faramir.

'That's exactly what happened. I suppose you could say that was the end of his story.'

'And the beginning of your own?'

'In a way. But Master Elrond once told us that no hero can really claim to have _started _or _finished _any tale, and when I talked it over, not long ago, with Sam here, we agreed that the great tales never end.'

Sam, thus appealed to, grunted agreement. 'I'd like to hear your part of the great tale we've all been in, though, Sir,' he said, grinning rather shyly at Faramir, 'From what Master Pippin tells us, you saw as much fighting as most of them that are being cheered through the streets every day just now – and more of the Black Riders than most, I reckon?'

'My part?' The laughter died from Faramir's eyes. 'There is little I could say, or would wish to say, that would be worth the hearing. Didn't Master Peregrin tell you that it is thanks to him, and to certain others, that I am alive at all?'

'We could all say something like that,' said Frodo quietly. 'It's not easy to be a hero, or to live, alone and without help.'

'For myself,' said Faramir, relaxing again and leaning back against the sun-warmed stones, 'I never had much desire to be a hero. I always found it more comfortable to look up and admire those who did.'

'I never wanted it either,' said Frodo. 'In fact, the sooner I go back to being plain Mr Baggins of Bag End, Hobbiton, in the Shire, the better I shall be pleased. I don't know about Sam, though. It's useful to be famous, if only to impress a lady, eh, Sam?'

'Most certainly,' said Faramir gravely, but with a glint of amusement in his eyes as he marked Sam's red face, 'it is a much harder thing to impress a lady.'

Sam grinned back. 'You seem to have managed it, sir.'

It was Faramir's turn to flush. 'I hope I may have, but not, I think, because she saw me as a hero.'

A comfortable silence fell between the three of them, that gradually filled with the little sounds of peace: a bee buzzing, the high thin calling of swifts, the soft splashing of the fountain, someone singing in the street outside.

Sam sighed contentedly and wriggled his toes. 'Plain light and water: it's good to be able to enjoy them again. And peace…'

'And peace. Peace as we never thought to know it in our lifetime,' said Faramir softly.

'I reckon we've earned it,' said Sam. 'And a good long rest, before…' He hesitated.

'Before we start work again?' suggested Faramir.

'Work?'

'You said it yourself: the great tales never end. We're only turning the page to begin a new chapter.'

'And what's your new chapter going to be, Faramir?' asked Frodo.

'Ithilien.'

Frodo smiled. 'Sam always thought of Ithilien as "Captain Faramir's country". It seems he spoke truer than he knew.'

'I believe he often does. Ithilien was always the place I loved best, after the City. It broke my heart to see it fouled and smirched by orcs and other servants of the Enemy, and hear it call to me for aid, and be unable to answer the call. Now there will be a cleansing.' He clenched his right hand for a moment, and then carefully and deliberately relaxed it again. 'And you, Frodo? You are for home?'

'Yes, we shall be setting out soon, I hope. I never thought I'd see the dear place again, but I think it was the memory of it, safe and inviolate, that kept me from despair many a time.'

Sam shifted uneasily. 'I just hope it is safe, after what I saw in the Mirror… Otherwise there'll be a cleansing there as well, I can tell you that.'

'The Mirror?' asked Faramir, intrigued.

'The Lady Galadriel's mirror … Now, that's another story. I don't know if there's time for it before dinner.' He looked hopefully towards the hall, where the sounds of preparation were becoming more distinct.

Faramir smiled. 'There'll be time after, I dare say. Or another day. At least we can be sure, now, that there will be another day, thanks to you two heroes.'

'Thanks to many "heroes", Faramir, yourself not the least,' said Frodo.

'If you will have it so.'

Silence held them again for a time. Frodo stretched himself out on the grass, his eyes lifting to the bright snow on the peak of Mindolluin. He repeated again, almost dreamily: '_slays king, ruins town, and beats high mountain down. _Here you have your king, and your town, and your mountain, and yet Time will devour them all in the end. Will those who come after – long, long after - remember us, Faramir, do you think?'

Faramir smiled. 'Time doesn't devour stories, Frodo, it only adds to them. I think we will be remembered, though whether what is remembered will be the truth, I do not know.'

A clear bell rang out through the now-cooling air.

'Dinner bell!' said Sam, with immense satisfaction. 'For the next hour or so it's me that will be doing the devouring, I can tell you. And that reminds me, sir…'

'Reminds you of what?'

'If you'll allow us to come and visit you in Ithilien, I could bring along a few seed potatoes. It's just the sort of place to grow a good crop of taters.'


End file.
